


Apocalypse please

by Pleasedontfindthis



Series: Enemies to friends type beat [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BAMF Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Enemies to Friends, Found Family, Gods, Immortals, Not Beta Read, Russia, Slight Violence, Techno is schlatts mentor, The Fates - Freeform, brief mentions of soulmates, slight daddy issues on schlatts part lol, wilbur and schlatt dont like each other yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pleasedontfindthis/pseuds/Pleasedontfindthis
Summary: If Wilbur has his guardian angel then Schlatt deserves a guardian Blood God.(Whilst Wilbur is off galavanting through space and time, this is what Schlatt gets up to.)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Jschlatt, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Enemies to friends type beat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061048
Comments: 9
Kudos: 119





	Apocalypse please

**Author's Note:**

> One of the most self-indulgent things I've written. Why did I make Techno Russian? Who knows. Reading the other fic isn't necessary if you're content with not knowing what the heck is going on. 
> 
> Translation notes at the end and the title is taken from 'Apocalypse please' by Muse. (The album Absolution is the OST for this Schlatt istg)
> 
> Please enjoy it.

Schlatt had a resilient personality. It came with the job. It came with the horns. Granted, his childhood hadn’t been ideal but as he watched the inevitable rise and fall of eras, empires and generations he learnt more about humanity than anyone else could. If he were to see his younger self now - that snivelling, pathetic little boy who sat idly by the river - he’d turn up his nose and laugh at him. 

He had no pity for the weak or faint of heart. Make no mistake, that wasn’t a trait that had always existed. Perhaps, in another world, he could have been something good. He’d been alive long enough to have mixed with crowds both kind and bad. Once, in a foreign country, Schlatt had been beaten down for another uncountable time. They grabbed onto one of his horns like it was a handle and shook him violently then left him in a darkened alleyway, crying between trash cans. On that same night, Schlatt had hunkered down in someone’s back tool shed with a blunt saw in his hand. 

It was rusty. It wouldn’t make a clean job but Schlatt’s hands were steady. He watched his reflection closely in the dirty window and raised the saw to his horn, as close to his scalp as he could manage. It wouldn’t hurt, it was as simple as cutting his nails. They’d caused nothing but grief for him and yet he was still hesitating, long enough for him to realise too late that he wasn’t alone. 

“ _Mal’chik!_ ” 

Schlatt dropped the saw and it clattered against the ground with a jarring crash. He was faced with a weather-beaten man; he wore dirty overalls and boots, and his eyes were hooded and dark with wizened age. In his hands, he held a nasty looking pitchfork. He repeated something in guttural Russian again and Schlatt trembled in the corner. His understanding of Russian was mediocre at best but he mustered up his courage and spat something back. 

“ _Idi na hui!_ ” 

The man stopped in his tracks and in the dimness of the gloomy shed he squinted and properly took in who he was talking to. With the light shining through the window, he saw the shadows of a youthful face and the beginnings of two unnatural horns protruding from their head. He recoiled slightly, obviously disturbed but when the boy didn’t move he lowered his pitchfork so that it was less of a weapon and more just a gardening tool. 

“You...speak English?” He asked. 

Schlatt nodded once. 

“ _Ne rezh_. Don’t cut,” the man gestured to the horns and then after a long pause, he followed it up with: “You...need somewhere to stay?”

Schlatt nodded again and the man heaved in a breath like he was reassuring himself and then signalled for him to follow with a prudent tilt of his head. Schlatt obeyed but at a safe distance. The man didn’t have much to his name; it was a rural, rundown farm and all Schlatt had to do to break into the shed was rattle the rusted lock a few times before it came apart in his hands. 

The house itself was small and underwhelming but the man bundled Schlatt in blankets and let him sleep in front of the fire. Schlatt didn’t have much of a choice, he’d made worse decisions than to sleep on the floor of some hostile stranger’s house. When he woke up in the morning there was a painful crick in his neck but it was the most rest he’d got in...who could say? He threw some logs onto the embers in the fireplace and fanned the flames higher. He could hear the stranger rustling about in the next room and he peeked his head around the door frame. 

“You’re awake,” the stranger commented without looking up, his accent didn’t seem as thick as it was before. On the table was a plate of steaming potatoes. “Eat.”

Schlatt sat down heavily on the bench opposite his host and took small bites out of his meagre breakfast. The stranger watched him and Schlatt shifted uncomfortably. In the better light, his host had what could only be described as an ageless face, he could’ve said he was 20 or 40 and Schlatt would be none the wiser. On the rough planes of his face, a jagged scar ran from his temple down to the bottom of his ear; pointing it out seemed like a sure-fire way to get shanked so Schlatt kept his mouth shut. 

“You know numbers?”

Schlatt looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I know how to count?”

“ _Da._ ” 

“Of course I know how to count,” he snapped. “I’m broke, not stupid.”

The stranger nodded approvingly. “Then you will make yourself useful here.”

“Who said anything about me staying?”

“‘I’m broke, not stupid’” the stranger repeated, mimicking his tone of voice with comical effect even though he wasn’t smiling. “I may be poor but at least I don’t starve.”

Schlatt sucked his teeth feeling peeved at having his own words thrown back in his face. “What do you want me to do?”

The stranger pointed behind him and Schlatt followed his finger until he saw numerous bags in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with potatoes. So the farmer sold potatoes for a living, huh? “I don’t know anything about sales,” Schlatt said when what he really meant was ‘this is beneath me’. 

The stranger leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. “I will teach you,” he said firmly, “And you will listen and learn.”

“Fucking Russians,” Schlatt said because it felt like the right thing to say. The stranger gave him a strange smile. 

“ _Fucking Russians_ ,” he repeated after Schlatt in perfect English without a trace of an accent. He raised his glass of what seemed like vodka and knocked it against Schlatt’s knuckles as he stared at him with incredulous shock. 

“Who the hell are you?” Schlatt asked quietly.

The stranger had a vacant look in his eyes like it was a question that he hadn’t considered for a long time. “The people I knew called me _Lezviye._ The Blade. Locals call me Techno.”

“The hell did you do to get a name like that?” 

“I can teach you,” The Blade said softly, “if you listen.”

\---

Schlatt, petulance aside, listened well and hard. Techno taught him how to think quickly when making deals and Schlatt gradually became really fucking good at it. Crunching numbers, sweet-talking people at the market, running and managing their finances - the potato market, believe it or not, was bustling and he was lucky that Techno had the foresight to tell him not to cut his horns.

They were a clever marketing scheme now. Customers, curious and wary about his appearance, crowded around the stall to see the strange goat hybrid, only to be pleasantly surprised to find a youthful boy with a charming accent to his Russian. Adoring ladies corrected his endearing mistakes with coos and laughter and if anyone tried to take advantage of the language barrier, Techno was right there to stop them. They only had to take one look at the scar on his face and they’d take off before he could even use his no-nonsense, monotone voice. It was like he could sniff out exploiters from a mile away. 

“Will you teach me how to do that too?” Schlatt asked one night over their dinner of potatoes. “How to find out when people are lying to you?”

“This is Russia,” Techno said. “Everyone backstabs each other one way or another. Especially when it comes to potatoes.”

“Are you a backstabber?” 

“Perhaps,” Techno replied and he didn’t say anything else about it for a long while. 

Technoblade was an intriguing character. Socially awkward and intimidating to a fault; Schlatt could probably count on his fingers how many words he’d say in a day. He was an unsmiling man who liked his greek analogies, vodka and potatoes. He’d spit on the ground when Government officials walked by and if that wasn’t the peak of courage then Schlatt didn’t know what was. 

They had an ongoing game between them where Schlatt would try to guess what Techno used to be before he became a recluse. Schlatt tried to make his guesses as outlandish as possible because it was when he made those guesses that Techno might have the barest hint of a smile. 

In the fields as they sowed their seeds. “A ballerina,” Schlatt said. “Look at those calf muscles!”

“ _Nyet_.”

Behind their stall at the market. “A champion chess player?”

“ _Nyet.”_

By the fireplace on a cold evening. “A philosopher? You love Theseus more than you love me.”

Techno glanced up from his book then, staring into the fire before shaking his head slowly. Schlatt had a feeling he might have come close to the answer then so the next day, when Techno was cooking in the kitchen, Schlatt burst into the room panting in the doorway with a shit-eating grin.

 _"Shlyukha!_ Right? _”_

Techno sent him to bed without dinner. 

\---

Their game was brought to an untimely end at the marketplace. Winter was edging closer and Schlatt was breathing warmth into his numb fingers when he saw a pair of expensive dress shoes pause near him. Government officials again, all sleek black suits and shady sunglasses even in the winter. He’d seen Techno do it time and time again without consequence like he was above the law so Schlatt spat on the ground near his feet. 

The official flinched back with a shout and when he saw it was Schlatt who dared to disrespect him he grabbed onto him by the collar of his shirt and shook him, threatening him in Russian about arrest. Schlatt watched, stricken, as the official reached out to grab him by the horns but Techno surged up and slapped his hand away. He shoved him aggressively back out onto the street, yelling in furious Russian; the official tried to shout over him but a crowd was gathering to spectate and he must have decided that it wasn’t worth it because he pushed his way past the onlookers and vanished. 

“Why did you do that?” Techno growled, turning back to Schlatt whose words died in his mouth. Techno had never been this angry with him before. 

“I- I didn’t think-”

“WHY DID YOU DO IT?!”

“BECAUSE I WANTED TO BE LIKE YOU!” Schlatt cried out and that must’ve been the last thing Techno expected to hear because he fell silent and his expression was a whorl of emotions that Schlatt had never seen before. 

“Pack up here,” Techno said after a long pause. “There is one last thing I have to teach you.”

\---

“Where I come from there is a saying,” Techno said. They were standing on the misty trenches of the open field. Techno was wrapping his knuckles with bandages, wearing nothing but a breezy shirt, dark pants and boots. “ _Krov’ dlya boga krovi.”_

Schlatt frowned as he tried to stop his teeth from chattering. “Blood for the Blood God?”

Technoblade didn’t respond immediately. He flexed his fingers and stood square on with a sack of potatoes that they set up in the middle of the field. He wound back his fist and delivered a fatal punch. Schlatt says ‘fatal’ because the sack was there one moment and gone in the next. From one hit, the entire sack exploded on impact and Schlatt was showered with lumps of potato. 

“Holy shit!”

No wonder everyone was scared shitless of Technoblade; not only could he kill a man with a single punch but he could fucking _obliterate_ them.

“Are you gonna teach me how to do that!?”

“I will teach you how to protect yourself,” Techno corrected, brushing scraps off his shoulder. “Never again will you let common men touch your horns. They’re more sacred than you know. I will train you every day until you can make me bleed.”

“What happens once I make you bleed?”

Techno scoffed. “What do you take me for? A bitch? It’s not going to be that easy.”

Yeah, so that was an understatement. In the span of two days, Technoblade had completely changed. There was a youthful fury in him that brought out a charged energy in his movements, he was no longer a plain, ordinary farmer - he had transformed into a rabid powerhouse of a man. Schlatt had been hopeless at first, granted Techno never delivered one of those fatal punches but he still ate dirt. He kept a note in mind to stick to business and finance whenever he could. 

“Again. Keep your fists up.”

“Gimme a break,” Schlatt grunted, wincing as he prodded a bruise on his cheekbone. “I wasn’t cut out for this.”

“Get up.”

“ _No_. I need to rest-”

Techno closed the distance between them and towered over him, blocking the winter sun. Neither of them spoke, Schlatt was still sitting on the frosty ground, cold seeping into his bones even as his skin burned. Techno stared at him menacingly, his breath coming in plumes of smoke like a bull. 

“ _Get. Up.”_

“ _Idi na hui!_ ” Schlatt growled. “I’m tired.”

Techno reached out and suddenly Schlatt was alive like he was an electric wire. Techno’s hand barely brushed against his horns when Schlatt grabbed his wrist and twisted it violently. He was barely processing information apart from Techno’s ringing words, ‘let no common man touch them’. He twisted harder and Techno’s grimace was masked as a challenging smile. 

He reached for his horns with his other hand and Schlatt wrenched hard on his wrist as he swept Techno’s feet from under him. Techno punched him square in the face and Schlatt released him, he was seeing stars. He staggered to his feet, breathing wretchedly. He heard Techno instruct him to raise his fists and fight so he charged forwards, Techno countered and tripped him up. Schlatt was sent sprawling into the frost but he was up again in mere moments.

“Maybe you should have cut them after all,” Techno said loftily. “They’d look good mounted on my wall.”

Schlatt was sucking air through his teeth, he didn’t know when or why he started getting so protective of his horns but he knew that an insult to them was an insult to his self-worth. He lowered his head and charged at his mentor who, instead of dodging, grabbed onto his horns and tried to force him back. Schlatt flipped his body weight and sent them both flying to the ground. 

Techno landed with a heavy thud and Schlatt was on him immediately, punching him over and over until Techno threw him off. He tried to get to his feet again but froze at his mentor’s voice.

“Stop. Stop and look.”

Schlatt’s vision cleared and focused on Techno’s form. There was a stream of blood running from Techno’s nose, dripping onto the frost in steady drips but even more shocking than that: the blood was silver. 

“You-you’re-” _You’re like me._

“We’re ‘strays’, _mal’chik_ ,” Techno said, crouching before him. He let Schlatt reach up and touch his face, silver mercury coated his fingers and Schlatt stared at it in wonder, turning his hand to see how the light glanced off of it. 

Techno’s blood was more viscous than his but it was undoubtedly the same. Techno gripped Schlatt’s hand in his in a rare show of affection. “The world is geared to shun people like us,” he said softly, “but if you take what I taught you then nobody will dare cross paths with you again. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“People spit on strays but no more. You have your pride in these” - Techno brushed his fingertips to the tip of Schlatt’s horn, the gentlest of touches - “and you stand up straight.”

Schlatt let himself be pulled to his feet. He felt physically lighter and to show Techno that he was taking his words to heart he raised his chin defiantly and straightened out his back. “Does this mean I can spit on the government now?”

“ _Mal’chik_ ,” Techno said with the barest hint of fondness and pride hidden in the monotony. “You can do anything you fucking want.”

\---

For someone who was immortal, Schlatt had funny ways of spending his youth. With his newfound faith in his Blood God, he was as good as unstoppable - he adopted most of Techno’s anarchist ideals but for the most part, he did it for his own sake. He hated to see people above him so he worked against the Government; he left Techno’s farm and joined mafias, families, revolutionaries - but, really, money and power came only to those who reached out and took it for themselves. 

The golden days of The Blade had expired and under his tutelage came a new form of chaos. 

Schlatt was an avid believer in karma. What goes around must surely come around and nothing brought him more satisfaction than a good reunion with the people who’d fucked him over. Schlatt was in it for the long run - he had the time, after all, and it was _always_ worth it.

He’d been following Technoblade’s advice for the most part. _‘You can do anything you fucking want.’_ He drank himself into oblivion in the back alleys of the red light district to see how low he could get and he relished the highs of being unspeakably rich. He’d written himself into history - been forgotten and remembered with each passing era, knowing that whatever close bond he forged was doomed from the start.

For a while, Schlatt lost his way and when he was lost he found himself back in the suburbs of Russia. The farm was gone, it had been demolished a few decades ago and the land had been sold for construction. Where there were once fields of crops that Schlatt, himself had cared for were only ugly concrete buildings instead. Russia was still cold - Schlatt had visited slap in the middle of winter and it didn’t matter if he was wrapped in layers of fur more expensive than the entire housing estate - this spot and the winter combined humbled him. 

“ _Ty kogo-to zhdesh’?”_

Schlatt jolted out of his reverie; the beginnings of a bitter wind ruffled the fox fur of his scarf and he blinked the snowflakes out of his eyelashes to squint at whoever had just spoken to him. 

“Uh... _Chto?_ ” 

“ _Ty kogo-to zhdesh’?”_ The stranger repeated and, even though Schlatt was beyond fluent in Russian at this point they still translated for him. “Are you waiting for someone?”

The snow fell harder and Schlatt had to shield his eyes. “ _Ya tebya otkuda-to znayu?”_ He asked and suddenly he was unsure of which language to speak in as well. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Listen, pal. If you’re a double-agent or a spy I’d recommend you turn around and walk away now. I don’t understand your secret code.”

“ _Krov’ dlya…”_

“ _-boga krovi.”_ Schlatt finished instinctively and right on cue, the snowfall calmed and his stranger stepped into view. “Techno…”

He hadn’t seen Techno since he’d left a good few decades ago. At first, he’d tried to write letters to keep him updated but it was Soviet Russia so they either got intercepted or Techno never bothered to reply. Granted, Techno had never been the most affectionate of people, Schlatt still hoped it was the former. He looked vastly different from how Schlatt remembered him, he used to literally look up to him and in his memories, he was a calloused and humble-looking guy. Now he was more ‘Blade’ and less ‘Techno’. He’d grown out his hair which was a vivid pink and tied it in a long plait over his shoulder and there was nothing humble about him anymore. His stance, his expression - hell, even the clothes he was wearing - it all screamed grandeur and pride. 

“You’ve grown taller, _mal’chik,_ ” Technoblade said, closing the distance and putting a steady hand on Schlatt’s shoulder. 

“Are we going to hug?” Schlatt asked, sounding hopeful.

Technoblade moved his hand away. “No.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here to give you a hug if that’s-”

“No, no...I mean, really, why are you here? In Russia?”

Technoblade straightened his back. “I heard you were in a spot of trouble.”

“Who told you that?” Schlatt said and he gestured to himself. “Do you see what I’m wearing? This scarf costs more than our entire earnings back then.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me why _you’re_ here then?” Technoblade interrupted, clearly uninterested in Schlatt’s gloating. “Did you crawl back to this cesspit because you missed me or what?”

Schlatt was beginning to sense what was going on here. He wasn’t sure what had happened between then and now but somewhere along that timeline his mentor had changed - or should he say ‘reverted’? He wasn’t talking to Techno anymore, this was The Blade in all his glory. 

“I hate to break it to you,” The Blade continued, “but neither of us are here by coincidence.” 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the Fates. They wanted us to meet here and now because something pivotal is about to happen.”

“Go on…”

“You’re not destined to waste away as I did, Schlatt,” The Blade said and he almost sounded bitter. “They have things planned for you. There’s a reason why you feel like something is missing every day, it’s because something _is_.”

“What? What’s missing?”

“I can’t say, but they said to expect the return of someone from your past and that the two of you are somehow detrimental to each other.”

“They couldn’t give me a hint?” Schlatt asked. “It could be anyone! Do you have any idea how many people I’ve met?”

“I can hazard a guess,” The Blade drawled, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Is that...is that the only thing you came here to say, Techno?”

The Blade inclined his head like he was thinking hard. “If I missed anything I’m sure the Fates will let us know.”

Schlatt cast his eyes to the snow-covered ground like he couldn’t bear to see Techno turn his back on him and walk away. 

“Oh- and Schlatt?”

“Yes?”

“Stand up straight. You’re slouching.”

\---

The Fates were too cryptic about their not-so-subliminal messages. If Schlatt’s former mentor had to pop up and tell him what was going to happen then Schlatt must have been doing something wrong. He often wished they’d never met up then, not only because it physically hurt to see Techno so distant but because he’d spent every passing day anxiously waiting for this mystery person to show up and fix the gaping void inside of him.

It was hell. He kept himself awake at night trying to recall faces that he might have forgotten or he’d focus a bit too hard on every person he met trying to figure out if he was missing something. People weren’t kidding when they said the Fates were cruel.

But if he thought the Fates were cruel at that time then he had another thing coming. Imagine his absolute shock and dismay when he found out his supposed soulmate - the person who was meant to fix him and make him whole again - was the same gangly kid from his horrific childhood. The one person in the whole world that Schlatt wished karma on the most but vanished long before he could deliver it. 

He pushed back his chair and gripped the podium as he stared up at him with wide eyes. You’re kidding. He’d waited all those years for _this?_ For _him?_ But there was no mistaking it, from the moment he saw him again he felt it. Not a wholesome warmth or an electrifying spark. No. Schlatt felt a soul-crushing rage. It encompassed his entire being until he was literally trembling where he stood, he hated him so much that he could barely utter his name.

“Wilbur Soot...”

Wilbur sneered back at him, letting him know the feeling was mutual. There was no mistaking it though; this livid anger that he felt was undeniably the most potent emotion he’d felt in forever. It made him feel alive. It made him feel _whole_. 

Ted gave him a strange look. It was unnatural for Schlatt to react so explosively. “Do you know the witness prior to this case, Schlatt?”

Wilbur was watching him expectantly, not a minute older than he was when he disappeared. He looked smug like he still saw Schlatt as a punching bag. Like that was all he ever could be. Schlatt grit his teeth; if even the Fates were trying to paint him as a laughing stock then fine: he’d play a role, he’d play along and put on one hell of a show. 

“Well, Schlatt?” Ted asked again impatiently. “Do you two know each other?”

“Yes, your honour,” Schlatt murmured, taking in the way Wilbur’s mouth twitched upwards into a snide smile, “something along those lines.” 

“Will it interfere with this case?”

“No, your honour.”

“Good. Then Wilbur Soot, the floor is yours.”

Wilbur gave Schlatt a look as he rose to his feet. His body language was skittish like he was nervous and scared to be stood in front of such a crowd but Schlatt knew he was challenging him. Nothing about him had changed; the air in the courtroom was charged as everyone leaned in to see how things would play out.

No one knew the history the two of them had. Hell, even Schlatt himself was baffled to see Wilbur alive and well and not a day older than before but it didn't matter. Like Techno had said: the Fates would surely let them know. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes:  
> Mal'chik - Boy.  
> Idi na hui - Go fuck yourself.  
> Shlyuka - Whore.  
> Chto? - What?


End file.
